Taste – 6.9
Atmosphere – 7.0
Service – 6.1
Value – 9.1 (£20 pp)
Before I head back off to university, my parents always ask, “Final meal, where do you want to go?” Ah, the power of choice. Not having to worry about what others want. My sister can’t complain about the cuisine; my mother can’t whine about how far the journey is. And this time, it was the comfort of Saikei. Serving my family for the past 20 years, it’s a cult favourite for gatherings and classic dim sum.
Saikei directly translates to ‘planted scenery’. But set below a Holiday Inn, ringed by a car park, with busy motorways racing past and a massive IKEA next door, it definitely does not fall into the bracket of ‘planted scenery’. More like planted concrete.
Inside, this carries over. The place feels frozen in an older era, with the remnants of an obsolete ticketing system and walls drowning in white. The greeny beige carpet lies dusty as though it hasn’t been touched since opening day. A mirror at the far end makes the room look endless, which is a bit redundant when there are enough tables to seat a wedding twice over. I always smirk when I walk in: it’s messy, but neatly messy, with piles of certain products placed perfectly but always in the wrong place, like Tsingtao beers stacked in the toilets. The air smells of Peking duck and herbal tea, and the aircon blasts straight into your face, which is a rarity in the UK.
Seated at one of the only tables for four in the place, we’re handed a pencil and a piece of paper straight away. The good old DIY. Mostly from the pictures and the questionable English translations, you tick your way through. The menu has about 70 items, but you can’t forget the secret menu, which mostly works by saying what you feel like and trusting they’ll have it. We reckon it’s another 100 dishes on top. Just don’t mistake it for your typical Chinese takeaway. No goddamn ordering of chips or pork balls.
Servers come at you from left and right, plates landing wherever there’s space on the table: crispy seaweed, hot and sour soup, char siu buns, and the steaming dim sum baskets stacked high with har gow, siu mai and xiaolongbao, all giving off that woody smell of bamboo that always seems to lure me back.
The hot and sour soup was a bit disappointing. I always assume the thick, gloopy soup will be pretty consistent wherever you go. But with the Din Tai Fung one in mind, this was nowhere near as good. It was too sweet, the prawns were overcooked, and it didn’t warm the throat the way it usually does. The Vietnamese rolls didn’t help either; they had a strong mushroom taste that was off-putting for me, as I am wary of mushrooms.
But the crispy prawn wontons made up for it, with an amazing crunch, and when you can find the prawn, it melts at the touch of your tongue. The ratio is always weird, though: about a fifth prawn and the rest wrapper.
The xiaolongbao always scorch you, the soup leaking out and filling your mouth so you taste every second they spent brewing that rich, herbaceous broth. The har gow tastes slightly artificial, giving you a firm chew instead of the soft bite you should get.
But the star of the show, as always at dim sum in the UK, is the Peking duck. It always feels like comfort food. The assembly line of grabbing your pancake, smearing sweet, glutinous hoisin over it, layering shredded, tender duck, piling on the necessary spring onion and cucumber, then wrapping it up and swallowing it in two bites.
I could go on and on about what I have had in the past and what I’m having now. The menu is vast, and you never have the same meal here, which I love. From whole fish, charring claypots, to cheung fun and congee, there’s always something new being chucked onto the table to try.
Coming in at about £20 a head in London, with most dim sum coming in at £6.30 to £8.00, it’s insanely reasonable. You’re getting comfort and honest food, and the proof is in the room: Chinese families who’ve clearly been coming as long as mine have. And if you really want to push the boat out, you can even book a karaoke room!
Location – Saikei, Holiday Inn Express, 85 Bugsby’s Way, London, England SE10 0GD